


Pain au Chocolat

by richardarmitage



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, bagginshield, fluffier than a herd of sheep, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richardarmitage/pseuds/richardarmitage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has owned and worked in his bakery for years now, and has lived a quiet life. That is, until a certain customer comes in after hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strawberry Tarts

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic I'm posting here, any and all constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated!

Soft rays of sunlight peaked through the thin blinds, and still managed to find their way onto Thorin’s face. He exhaled deeply as his alarm had turned on the local radio; some cover band was playing “Paranoid” by Black Sabbath, though it was frequently cut off by the white noise due to poor reception. He smacked the radio clock off before rubbing his sore eyes and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed (it wasn’t a bed really; two mattresses on top of each other on the ground suited him enough), and groaned as his back cracked as he stood up. 

He didn’t bother turning the lights on in his small apartment; he let the morning light fill up the walls of his empty home. Thorin slowly made his way over to his tiny bathroom, flicking the light on, his eyes flinching in the fluorescent light. He looked at himself in the mirror, and his eyes traced over the long dark hair that sat just below his shoulders, and the dark circles that hung underneath his piercing blue eyes. Slipping off the loose white t-shirt and the boxers that he was wearing before, Thorin stepped into the shower, letting the cold water nip at his rough skin. He wasn’t a tall man, about 5’6 at the most, but the shower was ridiculously small, and it only seemed to be fitting enough for a dwarf.

By the time it was 7:50, Thorin had already finished eating breakfast in his small living room, putting the dirty dishes away in the dishwasher that was humming by the time he got out of his bath robe and into proper work wear. He slipped on some flattering jeans and slipped loose collared shirt that fell just about his pubic line. He never bothered to tuck in his shirt because he was always covered in flour by the end of his work day. His long hair was neatly drawn back into a ponytail as he walked towards the front door, and fumbled with his keys to lock the door behind him.  
The air was crisp and bit his ears as he went down the rusting metal stairs that connected his apartment to his small bakery downstairs, the steps clanging and ringing with every step he took. He loved his work, though his parents never particularly encouraged it, it soothed his troubled mind, and his troubled stomach for that matter.

When Thorin reached the worn oak door that lead inside, he fumbled once more for his keys before sliding them into the key hole and swinging the door open with a loud creak. The first step inside was his favourite part of the morning; the sweet and warm air would hit his face, warming his chest and he felt as if he could breathe again. The atmosphere of the bakery was welcoming; the walls were a warm sandy brown that complimented the oak furniture and cupboards. He’d always thought of renovating the place, but money was always tight but he always believed that the few paintings that hung on the walls gave it more character.

He waltzed happily over to his kitchen that hid behind the cash register and the display cases and pulled out his enormous recipe book that was caked in flour, egg and god knows what else. He could only spare enough flour for a small variety of goods for the day, so he had to plan accordingly. His dry cracked fingers flipped through the pages and he stopped on “Pain au Chocolat”. A smile spread across his face as he remembered his mother baking the sweet treat with him as a child. It was his favourite, and his mother’s as well. Before he began creating his mater pieces for the day, he began with turning on the radio, a different station from the one that woke him up that morning, and sang along quietly in his beautiful baritone voice. 

He moved with great ease in the kitchen, cracking two eggs in one hand, while measuring baking powder with the other, rereading the recipe that was laid out before him. Though an hour flew by, it felt like minutes as he placed the first batch of Pain au Chocolat in the convection oven (which he loving called his prized possession). He danced over to the fridge and plucked out a small carton of strawberries from the market he had gotten the day before and began slicing them delicately for his infamous Strawberry sweet tarts that had won him first prize in the community bake-off three years running. Every once in a while, Thorin would glance up to the clock across the empty sitting area of his bakery, expecting to open quite soon. 

9:15. "Damn" Thorin thought to himself, "I’m nowhere near ready to open up shop." 

He quickly placed the tart crusts into a pan, pinching the edges to make a waves that went around the entire tart. He wiped his hands on his apron and quickly walked towards the front door that faced towards the city that already seemed to be wide awake.  
The door was unlocked, and the “open” sign was now in view and within the first twenty minutes, guests began pouring into the small space, all eager to try the treats that could have been smelled from five blocks away. It ended up being quite a successful day, he enjoyed every customer that walked through the door and always made sure they exited with a smile on their faces and a full stomach. He had completely sold out of his tarts, the blueberry muffins and the puff pastries he had made, but always left a pain au chocolat or two at the end of his shift for himself.  
Hours had flown by, as he escorted the last few of his guests out the door by 6 pm sharp. As he politely waved and exchanged goodbyes, he closed the door and sighed in relief. Though he loved the hustle and bustle of a lively city, he enjoyed the serenity of being in the quiet. 

He began to clean his work station immediately; placing the flour caked measuring cups into the sink and putting away the bags of sugar and flour into their rightful places when he heard the front door open once more.

"I forgot to take down the open sign", Thorin muttered to himself as he walked out from behind the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry but we have closed for th-“

“Oh so sorry, I didn’t realized you were closed.”

Standing before him was a man shorter than himself, with curly brown locks that hung just at his large ears. He sported a dark red blazer with a soft green vest and a white collared shirt underneath. His soft, beautiful brown eyes met Thorin’s blues and he felt his cheeks burn red and a lump growing in this throat.


	2. Spilled Milk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive feed back, and again, constructive criticisms are welcome!

What was barely a moment felt like an eternity. Thorin remained still, and felt his heart pound beneath his shirt that was now dampened with sweat. 

“Well, are you?” the shorter man inquired, with a worried look in his eyes.

Thorin swallowed hard, feeling his chest tighten.   
“Uh, well, y-yes we are, but I could whip you up something to take home, if you’d like.” With every syllable that left his trembling lips, Thorin could feel his face grow even warmer. He looked own quickly, trying to cool his face, but looked back up at his guest to make him feel welcome. The man gave Thorin a small smile before asking 

“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to be sick.” He strode over to Thorin, blazer being pushed away from his small frame as it caught air, his feet tapping softly against the deteriorating wooden floor becoming quieter as he stopped inches away from him. 

Cedar. Mint. Lavender. Thorin had noticed these scents as the man walked closer to him. He felt nostalgic, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. He tried to hide the sigh of relief that escaped him as he relaxed.  
“Yeah, I’m better now. “ Thorin spoke quietly, looking into the inviting stranger’s eyes.

“Good. Well, you must be this infamous Thorin I’ve been hearing about. I just moved here from out of town, and your bakery came highly recommended.” He paused for a moment, releasing the contact between their eyes and closed his. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, letting the sweet scents of room fill his lungs. Thorin couldn’t help but smile as the short man grinned and as he exhaled, he opened his eyes once more. 

“Mmmm, now I can see, and also smell why you are popular around here.”

Thorin ran a hand through his thick hair, messing up his ponytail that sat behind his shoulders even more, looking away shyly.

“Well, what can I get for you?” Thorin said excitedly, drawing a damp cloth over the surface of the counter that separated him, though it was already spotless.

“What do you have to offer?” he replied smoothly, and Thorin could have sworn he saw the other wink at him as he sat on the bar stool. Thorin smiled politely back at his guest, and turned, walking gracefully back into the kitchen. He fiddled with the knobs and buttons on his oven, and glided once more over to his prep counter. From across the kitchen, the guest watched Thorin move his body with such precision and grace like he had be born baking. He placed his hands on the counter infront of him, lacing his short fingers together and just listened to the soft clanging of the pans, the crack of a fresh egg, the hissing sound of the sugar falling into the bowl, and the baritone voice that echoed throughout the establishment. He was in such a trance, that he didn’t notice Thorin coming towards him again, but when he did he immediately straightened his back and smoothed out his blazer. With a soft clink, two small glasses met the counter’s surface, and he looked up as Thorin poured cold milk into them. Thorin felt the prescence of eyes on him and looked back with soft eyes, and flinched as he poured the liquid on his arm, and on his guest.

“Damn, I’m so sorry, I got distracted.” Thorin stumbled on his words and placed his hand over his face to cover his embarrassment. You clumsy fool, Thorin thought to himself.  
“It’s only milk!” a chuckle escaped the other milk covered man. “You’re lucky I'm not lactose intolerant.” He said with a wink (that was much more definite this time). When Thorin removed his hand, he crouched beneath the counter’s surface, pulling out as many napkins that could fit in his shaking hands. As he stood back up, he offered the napkins to his drenched guest, and held his breath as their hands met for the first time. 

“Your hands are incredibly soft” Thorin thought out loud, only seconds after realizing what he had said.

“Must have been the milk.” Was the response, Thorin feeling a thumb trace his knuckle.  
The two young men held conversation, Thorin occasionally sipping on the milk, letting the sweet creamy liquid trickle down his throat, but they never looked away from each other. Though their kind words to each other said one thing, their eyes said another. Thorin felt his heart dance in his chest with every word that came out the other’s mouth, and would hope that he would never stop talking. As time went on, the bakery was filled with sweet smelling air once more, and the shorter man could help but to begin licking his thin lips.

“So, what brought you to this village?” Thorin asked thoughtfully, still not knowing his name.

“Work. Well, er, kind of. I’m a sort of an author you see, writing based on my travels and experiences. I’m in the middle of a novel right now, but I won’t spoil anything.” He replied, brushing a stray curly hair out of his freckle kissed face.

“Mm, sounds like hard work. I’ve always have wanted to travel, but I’ve never had the time.” Or money for that matter, Thorin thought to himself, looking down at the glass that his large hands had cupped.

“Never?” the other replied in shock, “You have never been out of this village? I find that very hard to believe. After what I’ve heard about you, you should be on a-a bakery tour!”

“A bakery tour?” Thorin chuckled, and the other pushed his hand back playfully.

“You haven’t even tasted anything yet. How sure are you that I should be world famous?” Thorin asked, raising his brow.

“Well if scent was enough to go by, I’d put your bakery on every street corner until the edge of the world!” he exclaimed pointing towards the window, that showed a village shaded with night sky, and few streetlights that added a glow of burnt yellow. They shared a light hearted laugh, before the oven started singing a beep that spread a smile across their faces.  
Thorin slipped his hands into tattered old blue oven mitts, turned the oven off, and opened it’s heavy door. Hot air spilled into the air around him, biting at his face, though it no longer bothered him. He pulled the silver tray out and placed it on the stove top to allow the pastries to cool.

“Smells like I’m sitting inside a pie! What have you got over there?” came from across the kitchen, Thorin seeing a body attempting to see over the display case.

“Let them cool, or you’ll burn yourself. I wouldn’t want to be sued over something so small!” Thorin chortled back, picking up the treats one by one, setting them on a cooling rack.

“Even if I did sue you, the lawyers could never resist such gorgeous blue eyes!” the other man purred back, just loud enough that Thorin could hear. Thorin tapped two of the sweets, testing to see if they had cooled. When they were just cool enough, he placed them on a small plate, and set them on the counter top in front of the man.

“Pain au Chocolat?”

Thorin nodded as he pulled up a chair, across from the other.

“I haven’t had any in years, but they are my absolute favourite! Have you been reading my mind?”

“I have a sort of talent for knowing what people want.” Thorin shrugged, pretending that he wasn’t flattered.

“I bet you do.” He said, taking a slow bite. The pastry filled his mouth with pleasure; the dark chocolate was sweet but bitter enough to make it savoury, and he let the flakes of crust dissolve onto his tongue. After a couple of more bites, and a couple of moans that Thorin picked up on, he sipped on some milk to clear his throat.

“That,” he pointed to the half-eaten treat sitting on the plate, “is absolutely fantastic. Where the bloody hell did you learn to make that god-sent treat?”

Thorin swallowed hard. “My mother taught me as a child, and I’ve always kept it with me.”

“You must tell her that I – and probably everyone else- thinks it fabulous! I’d love to write a small piece on village bakeries, when I have the time of course.” As he continued to praise Thorin, he failed to recognize the pain that was shown in Thorin’s eyes. “Oh, I- I didn’t realize, I- I’m sorry.” Placing a warm hand onto Thorin’s.

“No no, it’s quite alright. She passed peacefully.” Thorin assured, letting his fingers explore the other’s, giving his a subtle squeeze. They sat in a comfortable silence while finishing their desserts and milk, until the guest looked up at the clock that was behind Thorin’s muscular shoulder. 

“Blimey! Is that really the time?” Thorin turned around. 9:14pm. 

“Apparently so.” He said somewhat solemnly, picking up that his new friend had to leave.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I must go, I still have some things to do. This was amazing, thank you.” He stood, tucking his chair in, and extended his hand toward Thorin. Thorin shook it politely and watched him scuttle across the room and just before he placed his hand on the knob of the door, he called

“Wait! I didn’t catch your name!”

The man turned slowly, a wide toothed smile spreading across his face.

“Bilbo. My name’s Bilbo.” He sang before heading out the door.


	3. Udon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback! Constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> Sorry this chapter took so long, I was uninspired for a while, and I'm still not completely happy with the way this one turned out, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Thorin smiled to himself as he heard Bilbo’s smooth voice sing in his ears. “Bilbo” it sang again. And again, and again. As he closed up shop, Thorin hummed to himself and would smile , picturing Bilbo waltzing around to his singing, taking his hand in his, twirling him in every direction. After day dreaming, he found himself leaning against a counter top, palms sweaty, and eyes looking at the ground.

“Get yourself together. It’s not like he’s interested. He’s probably met hundreds of men better than you. He’s outgoing, lively, charming, humorous, and you’re just…” the words hung in the air, eventually dissipated into nothing. Out of frustration, he pounded his large fist against the counter, which he immediately regretted, feeling the blood rush to his hand with a tingling sensation. When he finished cleaning his kitchen and locked the customer entrance, he solemnly walked towards the back exit, before flicking the lights off, he took one last look to his paradise, and his eyes caught a stray napkin that he had forgot to throw out. Groaning, he placed down his keys, and stomped over to the counter where Bilbo was sitting, and the scent of cedar and lavender still filled the atmosphere. He swiped up the napkin, crumpled it, and just before throwing it away, saw pen markings on it.

Curious, he un-crumpled the soft napkin and saw a phone number on it. “When did he--?” Thorin mumbled to himself.

He traced a thumb over the ink, and smirked at the calligraphy. “A true author” he noted, before slipping the napkin into his jean pocket. He had quite the jump in his step now, even though the air leading up to his home left his trimmed beard frosted.

He was glad to be home again, though many people in his live hadn’t considered his barren apartment a home. With a flick of a switch, the entry way (and the kitchen and living room as well, being connected) became light, with bulbs that desperately needed to be changed. He placed the thick tie dye lanyard around the door handle before locking it, feeling the coarse fabric beneath his fingertips. Leaving his kitchen safe shoes at the door (who in their right minds decided to make shoes so un flattering?), he entered the kitchen, opening and reaching into his fridge for the small Styrofoam box that sat on the top shelf. He didn’t know why people frowned at eating left over food for meals, he loved not having to cook anything once in a while. Moving around the limp udon noodles with a fork, and placing the box in the microwave that sat on the counter, he swiped his finger against the udon sauce that spotted the lid, and licked it.

The salt of the sauce refreshed his mouth from the sweetness that still lingered from the Pain au Chocolat. As his meal continued to heat up in the microwave and filled the kitchen with a mouth watering aroma, Thorin went to his room and pulled off his shirt and pants, flinching slightly as his warm skin met the frigid air of his room once more. He slipped his strong thighs into a pair of loose black sweatpants, and threw a muscle tank that was tight against his chest, allowing the shape of his upper torso to peak through. He let his thick rough hair out from its messy ponytail, and pulled it back into a braid.

 _You should cut your hair_ , his mother had nagged him the last time they met, i _t’s getting quite long and unprofessional looking_. He didn’t care. He hated having it down on his shoulders now, but didn’t want to get it cut because it was a security blanket. His brother had long hair for most of his life. His brother always had his golden hair in a ponytail with two single braids that were held behind his large goofy ears. Thorin realized he was staring at a photograph of his brother and him that sat on what Thorin called his dresser, realizing that the microwave must have been beeping for a while now.

The Styrofoam burned his fingers as he pulled the box out, and steam kissed his nose as he opened up the lid. He plopped himself down on his beaten faux leather couch, and turned the small television on. He got a grand total of 4 channels on it; the weather (which was the only channel that provided some information that didn’t rot his brain), a French news channel (he only knew some French from his recipe books), a children’s learning channel (he knew his a b c’s thank you very much) and a channel that only ever seemed to play the same episode of a soap opera he found way too dramatic for his taste. For a moment, a very long moment, he considering switching to the soap opera, though he admittedly hated the show, pointing out all of the flaws and continuity errors was his guilty pleasure. Instead, he tuned in into the French news channel. He slurped on the thick noodles, watching and listening intently, trying to pick up on French words he knew. He heard some “Bonjour”s, which he knew meant “Hello”, and heard “Français”, which meant French, and he could have sworn he understood something about a teacher being arrested. He finished his small meal by the time the sports caster had come on and licked the sauce on his lips. He searched the area for tissues, because his chin felt warm from the sauce that clutched to the thick beard hair.

Thorin laid back against the couch, beard clean from the sauce, and pictured Bilbo’s face looking up at him with the cheeky smile he pulled so frequently during their chat. He closed his eyes, imagining his scent and his laughter, and within moments, Thorin was in a deep sleep.

_Thorin chased a taller blonde figure in the park. He looked at his small hands that were stained with dirt, before looking up to see his younger brother stop at the peak of the lone hill. “ I bet you two dollars I can roll down faster than you!” the blonde chimed, his smile missing a front tooth. Thorin smirked. “You’re on!” The two boys laid on their sides, clutching their hands against their chests. “3, 2, 1, GO!” He brother screamed. Thorin watched as the colours of the sky, earth and trees spun in his eyes, creating a kaleidoscope of greens and blues. As his little frail body spun faster, he began to hear them. The horns of cars began to blare in his ears. The sound of his brother squealing with joy turned into a hoarse scream of agony. His body didn’t slow down, people began yelling, cursing for him to stop. He couldn’t. Panicking, Thorin threw his arms out to stop himself. He gripped the ground, but his chubby fingers were ripped out of the earth. He heard the sound of tires screeching to a halt, and the sound of glass breaking._

Thorin woke up sweating. His knuckles were white from gripping onto the couch, and he had left more wrinkles on the fabric. Sighing, he stood up and stretched, feeling his body breathe a sigh of relief. _Maybe cholesterol raising food isn’t such as good idea before bed_ , he thought to himself as he flicked off the television and refocused his eyes on the small clock that sat on top of the television. 6:28 AM, the harsh red light read. He slept the entire night in the most uncomfortable position imaginable, and his neck and back were not going to let him forget it for the rest of the day.

Thorin regretting opening half an hour later than usual, though he had no line up at the door, everybody just seemed crankier and in a rush. Perhaps it was him. Thorin didn’t take any notice at his attitude for today, he usually tried to seem perkier (but not overall fake) but his mind was elsewhere. Twice, count it, twice today he burnt two pans of butter tarts, and he let out a growl so loud that his customer’s entering the bakery had heard. The day trudged on, and Thorin’s patience drew thin. He was a true introvert in nature, but rarely let his customer’s, especially his regulars like Miss Belinda see his stubborn side. When she picked up her regular order on Wednesdays, two butter croissants; one slightly blackened, the other cut in half, she peered at him with her old tired eyes over a pair of thin wired glasses.

“Is everything alright today my dear?” she squeaked, her voice as frail as glass. She placed a tiny wrinkled hand on Thorin’s as she gave her money for her order. Thorin looked down on her sweetly. “Yes, just a rough night that’s all.” Belinda nodded in understanding before leaning closer to him, attempting to whisper, “I was young and full of life once, though it was eons ago. But sometimes forgiveness is easily given to others, but you don’t find true peace until you forgive yourself.” She gave him a slow wink before turning her walker and heading out the door.

Her words ran through Thorin’s brain the rest of the work day. It was like she was reading his thoughts, though he didn’t know what she meant to forgive yourself. How does one begin to forgive themselves? It’s easy to utter two words that can gain forgiveness of others, but when you say them to yourself, a small voice in your head says differently, that you’re lying. That you don’t deserve forgiveness. It’s your fault.

“Where do I begin?” Thorin unnoticeably said to himself out loud, doing the dishes after he closed the shop for the day. He shook off his own words that stung his ears. He couldn’t think of it anymore. Though it was far in the past, he couldn’t face the music again. He resumed washing the burnt bits off of the pan when the phone sang. It never ran unless it was a) a prank call, b) a wrong number, or c) a customer inquiring for a large order (which was rare). He partially dried his hands before picking up the phone.

“Hello , this is Oakenshield bakeries, Thorin speaking.” Thorin said, as professionally as his voice could manage.

“You know no one believes in that “wait two days before calling” bullocks. It was a pain trying to dig up your number in a phone book, which you haven’t got listed by the way, so I had to ask around like a beggar for your bloody phone number, yet no one, and I mean no one, had it! So I marched all the way down to the police station and I practically got interviewed to as why I needed it! So if any one comes in and ask, please tell them I’m a long lost relative or something.”

The familiar voice spoke , well practically yelled into Thorin’s ear, which caused him to hold the phone away a few inches.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me.” Bilbo answered, Thorin hearing his exasperated breath on the other line, waiting to hear more than just his name.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called, I feel asleep soon after supper and I woke up on the couch, and headed straight to work and –“

“How old are you?”

“30.” Thorin hesistated. He just turned the big three-zero two months ago. Was he too old? “Why?”

“Blimey, you’re still young, yet that just made you sound like you’re in your late seventies!” Thorin’s cheeks turned bright red. It’s true. He was frequently called an “old soul” for his personality.

“Well, what were you up to last night, Mr. “young and restless”?” Thorin gave him sass right back. (Which he loved to do, and thought bilbo deserved).

“After I left your place, I walked down to the post and delievered some letters for my family- they’ve been dying to know how I am in the new place, and they are dreadfully old fashioned, so we still write. It’s completely like “The Notebook” because they never seem to get any of my letters.”

Thorin loved to hear the sweet voice go on and on, because Bilbo’s voice, though non-stop, comforted him. It was like catching up with an old friend; you both spend time chatting on about what happened yesterday to last week but you don’t have the heart to interrupt them, and hearing a voice that once brought you security is a voice you never want to stop hearing.

“Thorin?” “Mmm?” Thorin uttered absent mindedly, catching himself day dreaming about Bilbo’s soft hands.

“You haven’t been listening to a word I said have you.” Bilbo stated blankly, with a tone of annoyance.

“No no, I have! You still write letters to your parents.” Thorin blurted, hoping that it has saved him.

“… Yes. Anyways, I’m still so glad I caught the trinket shop owner, Greg is it?, before he closed.” Bilbo went to the trinket shop? Thorin thought to himself, trying to catch up on the conversation without being too obvious.

“I have got to stop doing that to people. I don’t want to build a bad reputation”. Thorin’s mouth started salivating at the thought of Bilbo’s lips moving against his. He’s probably excellent kisser. Thorin thought to himself once more, before hearing “I saw the small pub on the corner of Bursberry, and I wanted to know if you’d like to get a drink one time.” Bilbo said, more like a statement like he knew Thorin would accept.

“I- I’m sorry?” Thorin asked, though the words repeated in his head.

“Did you want to grab drinks some time? Unless your baking is holding you down.” Bilbo asked more obviously this time, more nervously than the first.

“Ab- absolutely! Yeah, I’d love to.” Thorin said excitedly, then thankfully played it cool.

“Great! Meet me there at 8 pm. I look forward to seeing you again! Also, please wear those dark wash jeans, they make you look fantastic.” Bilbo purred before Thorin heard the loud click of the phone.

Thorin remained quiet for a moment, as he placed the cordless phone back onto its stand. He felt hot, and his heart leapt out of his chest. He couldn’t believe what just happened, and he now had a date with a beautiful man that made him feel like he was a high school freshman again. He joyfully finished his chores and headed upstairs for the night. Thorin was certain that his dreams would be kinder to his conscious tonight.


	4. Apples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry I disappeared for like, what, two-three months? I had finals for many classes, but I'm done school until September! Here is a short, filler chapter I wrote!
> 
> Also, this chapter features two characters that were requested ;)

Thorin woke the next morning with the blanket barely covering his torso, exposing his hair dusted chest, and his short thick legs stretching towards the bottom of the mattress. He sighed happily as he stretched, letting the sunlight warm his exposed skin. His muscle flexed as he pushed his body upright, and rubbed his tired eyes. For the first time in ages, he allowed himself to sleep in, feeling his body thank him for it as his muscles relaxed.

Tentatively, he slipped into the shower, letting the cool water kiss every inch of his naked body. The scent of peppermint filled the small room quickly, as Thorin rubbed the soap into his thick skin, ensuring to clean every crevice. Letting the cold water wash away the suds, he used this time to think of what things to say to Bilbo, things that wouldn’t make him seem like a complete idiot.

After a long argument with himself, he stepped out of the shower and slipped into a pair of loose running pants, and threw a long sleeve tee over his head. After trimming his beard and combing out his hair, he tucked his long hair into a black beanie. After grabbing a slice of toast, and sloppily jotting down ingredients he needed to pick up for his shop , Thorin headed out the door in a solid dark gray tweed jacket with a few reusable grocery bags stuffed in his deep pockets. He practically danced down the metal stair, and he began whistling the cover song he had heard the morning they had met.

The cobblestone sang as his black converse shoes met the surface, and hugged the edge of the red brick buildings that sat together by the length of the street. Every so often there was a solemn streetlight that speckled the street with a golden light during the shade of the night. He quickly approached the the small white building that sat at the corner between a playground, and Ori’s bookshop. Stepping into the shop, Thorin smiled warmly at the short blonde haired employee, who was restocking the apple stand.

“Oh! Hullo Thorin!” the blonde chimed happily as he fumbled with the apples, dropping a few on the ground as his blue eyes met Thorin’s. The bright red fruit rolled and tapped against Thorin’s shoe.

“Hello Fili, how’s work today?” The dark haired replied, wiping off the dirt from the fruit, placing it steadily on the display.

“Thanks,” Fili answered, “I hate apples, nasty little buggers.” Fili ran a hand through his thick blonde and braided hair, sighing deeply. “Anyways, it’s alright so far, can’t say much yet. We just hired a new guy who is supposed to start in –mm - about half an hour? And I have to train him. Me! They couldn’t get anyone else to train the guy, I’m always the pack mule when it comes to new people. Everyone else is “too busy” or “too tired” but of course I have to be the big brother figure to EVERY new person here.”

As Fili went on his little rant, Thorin couldn’t help but smile. For some reason, the little blabbing blonde reminded him of his brother, who was also loyal and a fatherly figure to others. Fili was certainly shorter than Thorin, but nonetheless was extremely emotionally and physically strong. He had moved into the neighbour with his mother shortly after Thorin had opened up his bakery, and they were regular customers.

“You really suck at pretending to pay attention Thorin.” Fili said cockily, folding his arms. “You know, if you’re really interested into that one guy, you should really learn to stop day dreaming.”

“What?” Thorin blinked, feeling his ears grow hot.

“Nothing.” Fili slyly smiled before picking up the empty box from the floor and disappearing into the storage room.

After spending what seemed like hours in the baking aisle (trying to figure out whether to try coconut flour or not), Thorin approached the cash register, seeing Fili help a brunette on the till.

“Okay, press 0. Alright. Now press Enter. ENTER. THAT enter. Yes, okay good.” Fili became a drill instructor, but Thorin couldn’t help to notice the softness in the blonde’s eyes and the blush pink that was spread across his face. After the tall brunette helped the elderly woman pack her bag with groceries, Thorin stepped up to the conveyor belt.

“Hi there! How are you today?” The brunette chirped at Thorin. He had short stubble across his chin, with dark brown eyes and shaggy hair.

“I’m well thank you, are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Thorin smiled, looking at Fili who clenched his jaw.

“Yes I am actually! It’s my first day, and I’m lucky to have Fili here to help me. He’s saved me from embarrassment multiple times now.” The cashier said, smiling at Fili. Thorin glanced at the small print that was on the tag, hanging from his vest. Kili was printed onto the plastic.

“Uh, yes, well, Kili I want you to do this transaction by yourself.” Fili stumbled over his words as he felt Thorin’s eyes on him.

Kili quickly zipped the countless bags of flour and butter through the scanner, and placing them into Thorin’s reuseable bags.

“Woah! Someone likes baking!” Kili exclaimed, as Fili covered his face with his palm.

Thorin chuckled, before answering. “Uh, yes, I own the bakery down the street from here.”

“Well then! Fili, we should definiately visit it during our lunch break!” Kili sang.

“Well that depends on if you can last for another few hours.” Fili replied, his hand brushing against Kili’s as he lifted the bags up to Thorin.


End file.
